


Sweeter Than Sugar, Hotter Than Milk

by Sandrene09



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a blue-eyed man with the most ridiculous Beatles-inspired haircut enters Anthony’s café, he accidentally pours hot milk on himself. Little does he know that it’s only the beginning of many more injuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweeter Than Sugar, Hotter Than Milk

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of my fic. This fic can be found on my tumblr and my lj.
> 
> EDIT: the  _wonderful_[tigersponge](http://tigersponge.deviantart.com/) on Deviantart made [ _this_](http://tigersponge.deviantart.com/art/Sweeter-Than-Sugar-Manga-Cover-510415583) beautiful fanart for this fic. Go check it out! :)

Smosh Café was Anthony’s pride and joy.

Sure, it wasn’t quite like _Starbucks_ or some other mainstream coffee shop out there, and it wasn’t really the kind of café teenagers liked to frequent to take pictures of their coffee orders, but it was something to be proud of. After all, Anthony had built it from the ground up, had poured his heart and soul into the small business even back then, when his family was struggling to make ends meet.

While it wasn’t _famous_ , it _was_ still quite known, and that was why Anthony was heating milk in the middle of the afternoon, cursing under his breath as he took a quick glance at the number of coffee orders he and Mari still had to work on.

When the milk was _finally_ hot enough, Anthony grabbed a large white mug with the shop’s logo on it and started to pour.

The small bell above the door rang, and Anthony found himself glancing up to see a man with the most _ridiculous_ Beatles-like haircut. Anthony blinked, unsure of what he was seeing—the man had, and Anthony was not kidding, an almost-perfect half of a circle on his head.

Vaguely, Anthony wondered whether the man used a bowl of some sort to cut his hair.

The man—or _Bowl Hair_ , as Anthony started to call him in his head—walked the few steps between the door and the counter, and when he was near enough, Anthony noticed that _Bowl Hair_ had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.

It was then when Anthony yelped in pain as he felt too-hot liquid scald his left hand. Anthony bit his lip as he quickly put down the container of milk on the granite countertop, shaking his left hand all the while like it would lessen the pain.

Anthony had—like an idiot—poured so much milk into the mug that it had overflowed.

Mari walked over to the counter and smiled at _Bowl Hair_ , asking for his order. Anthony knew it was her way of telling him to go to the sink and run some water over the burn, but he couldn’t quite leave. The burn was still painful and he really wanted the cold water to numb the pain somewhat, but he couldn’t quite stop looking at _Bowl Hair_ and his blue eyes.

When _Bowl Hair_ finally turned to go look for a seat, his ( _amazing, gorgeous_ ) blue eyes met Anthony’s for a second, and he smiled at him, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, before finally walking away.

Mari totally heard the sigh that escaped him, but because she wasn’t an asshole like Matt, David, or Joven, Anthony knew she wouldn’t tell anybody.

Eventually, Anthony shook his head and walked over to the sink, still in a somewhat shocked state— _Bowl Hair smiled at him!_ —but better than before, when he was just standing in one spot with his cheeks red and his mouth open.

Mari looked at Anthony, her eyebrow raised. Anthony had known her long enough to know that she was torn between not being amused at him for standing still in one spot for a few moments despite the large number of orders they still had to work on and being amused because, well, _duh_. Who the hell stared at a man one just saw?

Anthony ignored her look and blushed even further—thank _God_ it was Mari who was working with him today, and not Joven, or worse, David. He would rather purposefully lose at Mario Kart than be subjected to their teasing.

After a few minutes of silence, Anthony found he couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “So uhm,” he said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, continuing to keep his eyes on the cup before him, “what’s his name?”

Mari’s stare felt like it was burning through the back of his skull just so she could look at him directly. Anthony bowed his head even further, looking intently at the latte before him, concentrating too much on the leaf design he could do in his sleep. Eventually, he added, “you know, since I want to know as much of the customers as possible.”

It was a shit excuse. Mari didn’t call him out on it because she was a heaven-sent angel.

“Ian,” she finally said, apparently taking pity on him. He had started to squirm a while ago—an action that he just found himself compulsively doing whenever Mari directed one of her stares at him—and the action had caught her attention.

Ian. Huh. Anthony found himself mouthing out the name, trying to test the feel of it on his tongue. It _was_ better than _Bowl Hair_ , but only by a little bit. Still, the name felt right as it rolled off his tongue, and Anthony found that he liked it.

Way across Anthony, Mari simply rolled her eyes as she shook her head in amusement.

-.-.-.-

The second time Ian entered Smosh Café, Anthony had looked behind him as he heard the bell ring and, surprised that Ian had returned to the café, looked a little—okay, _a lot_ —longer than he should. Anthony then promptly tripped over a customer’s bag, and he found himself thanking the universe that he was only holding an empty tray for a split second before his knee hit the floor, then his body, and finally, his head.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the girl said as she scrambled out of her seat to help Anthony up. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Anthony blinked at her, then looked around the café. It was a lazy Thursday afternoon, and only the regulars and Ian were there. However, Smosh Café _was_ quite known, so they had many regulars—and all of them were looking at Anthony.

Anthony smiled at them before quickly turning around and grabbing his tray. The girl who had her bag beside the circular table’s legs was still apologetic, red still high on her cheeks, so Anthony took the time to assure her that yes, he was fine, and no, it wasn’t her fault, before walking as fast as he could to the counter.

“Hello and welcome to Smosh Café,” Anthony breathlessly said as he looked at Ian. “What can I get you?”

Ian smiled at him, and _fuck_ , his smile was just as brilliant as the rest of him. Anthony had to struggle to concentrate—seriously, losing himself in Ian’s ocean-blue eyes was just as easy and fun to do as fantasizing about him—and thankfully, he had managed to remember just what Ian ordered.

As it was a rather slow afternoon, Ian opted to just stay at the counter to wait for his drink, rather than go and sit down in one of their more comfortable chairs. This made it _very difficult_ for Anthony to concentrate on what he was doing. While half of him loved Ian’s presence—said half even wanted Anthony to just stand still and stare at Ian like a _creep_ , not unlike the last time Ian was here—another half wanted him to go away and to not stare at Anthony so much. Anthony had to resist the urge to rub the back of his neck with his hand as he poured two shots of espresso into a blue mug.

“Hey, uhm.”

Anthony looked up, surprised. Was Ian really talking to _him_? He really wasn’t sure, but just to be on the safe side, he smiled at Ian, his eyebrow raised in question.

Ian smiled at him, a little more comfortable than before. “I just wanted to thank you guys for getting my name right last time I was here. I can’t tell you how many times other cafés got the spelling of my name wrong—I mean, seriously, ‘Ian’ is like the simplest name out there, and I can’t even tell you how many variations I’ve gotten before.”

Ian stopped himself from talking more, not wanting to embarrass himself. Anthony merely smiled at Ian, internally freaking out at Ian’s sheer adorableness. After a few seconds of awkward staring, Anthony looked back at the mug. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit and wait? I’ll bring your drink to you when it’s ready,” he mumbled, his cheeks still flushed.

Ian opened his mouth as if to argue, before closing it and nodding instead. Anthony looked up just in time to see Ian smile at him before he quickly looked back to the mug, his cheeks reddening even further.

Fucking Ian with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid smile—he was absolutely _horrible_ to Anthony’s concentration. Anthony couldn’t look up without making sure that Ian wasn’t staring at him first, and he kept on getting into accidents whenever the man was around.

The café was comfortably cold—a welcome reprieve from the unforgiving sun outside—and yet Anthony’s hands were clammy with sweat. How the hell was he going to serve the drink to Ian without leaving sweat on the cup?

Anthony grabbed the nearest clean dishcloth and wiped the mug with it, before grabbing one of those cute little notepads Mari was so fond of. He smiled to himself before writing, taking the time to at least make his handwriting a little bearable.

Anthony put the mug on a nearby tray and searched for Ian, eventually finding him seated on a chocolate brown high-backed wing chair Anthony vaguely remembered finding in a flea market. Ian had chosen a spot near the counter, but far from the door and the other customers’ eyes.

“Here you go,” Anthony said, mentally patting himself on the back for managing not to stutter.

Ian watched as Anthony put the mug down on the small circular table before him. “Thank you,” he said, tilting his head a bit, “Anthony.”

Anthony had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling too much. “You’re welcome,” he said, standing up. “Enjoy your coffee.”

Ian smiled at him, and Anthony walked away.

Ian looked down on his mug and felt his smile turn into a frown.

Written on an admittedly cute piece of paper was _‘Ean’._

Ian shook his head as he laughed to himself. That bastard.

-.-.-.-

“Anthony, go grab the sugar cookies! They’re burning!” shouted Matt as he struggled to put his latest batch of cupcakes into the glass display case.

Anthony was about to grab the oven mitts on the table by the kitchen door when the bell rang and he found himself looking up. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ian, dressed in a well-fitting long-sleeved polo shirt and skinny jeans.

Goddamn, he cleaned up _good_. While he wasn’t overly muscular, Anthony could still see a hint of strong arms. His stomach wasn’t flat, and his hair was just _ridiculous_ , but he was good-looking and he managed to pull of the bowl haircut really well.

“Anthony!” exclaimed Matt, glancing behind him. “Go get the fucking sugar cookies!”

Anthony shook his head as if to bring himself back to awareness, before going to the counter and quickly writing on a pale yellow piece of paper. “Matt, tape this to whatever that guys orders,” he said, motioning towards Ian’s direction. “This is his name, got it?”

Though he couldn’t see it, he knew Matt was rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now go get the cookies.”

Anthony nodded before quickly walking into the kitchen and opening the oven. He had the tray in his hands for about a _damn_ second before he realized that he left the oven mitts.

“Oh shit,” he managed to say before letting go of the tray. He bit his lip, trying not to make any noise, but he knew that Matt knew what happened—after all, the sound of the metal tray clanging as it hit the tiled floor below him was pretty damn loud.

He was so fucking dead.

His hands hurt like hell, and he shook them, still biting his lip. Matt was going to kill him—he knew he was in for a very high-pitched ramble of a lecture later. Everyone knew not to mess with Matt’s pastries, it was practically rule number one in the café, and he had just screwed up.

If Matt heard the loud clang, Ian would have undoubtedly heard it too.

Anthony sighed in frustration. He very much wanted to bang his head on the wall—that would probably hurt less than the burn on his hands, to be honest.

He had embarrassed himself three times already. Good Lord.

Matt walked into the kitchen, his face blank and his hands protected by oven mitts. He bent down and grabbed the tray, shaking his head. “I hate to say this, and I know it’s probably overused, but Anthony Padilla, _you had one fucking job_ ,” he said, drawing out the last words for emphasis. “I’m mad, believe me, but Mari told me you naturally screw up around this guy—”

“Hey!” protested Anthony. Apparently, Mari wasn’t quite as angelic as Anthony believed her to be.

“—so I got the note he wanted me to give you.”

“Where’s the note?” asked Anthony, his heart beating a little bit faster than before because _hello,_ there was a fucking note.

“It’s outside,” Matt said before exiting the kitchen. After a few seconds Anthony spent just standing still, stunned, he followed, immediately making his way to the counter to see a hastily scribbled note on a light blue piece of paper.

Anthony smiled.

_Ein. Really?_

_-Ian_

-.-.-.-

Ian looked at the blinking cursor, cringing at what he had written so far.

_Anthony is hot. Like, hella._

Ian shook his head, pressing backspace forcefully. He had initially entered Café Smosh to try and see if he would be able to continue his novel there, but as time passed, he slowly realized that he wasn’t going to get much work done. At the beginning, he had seen no reason why, and then he saw the hot barista named Anthony. Despite the calming ambiance of the café, he couldn’t quite write properly, finding that what little remained of his concentration on his work was blown to pieces.

His editor, Melanie, was not going to be happy once she found out that he wouldn’t be able to make the deadline.

“Here’s your coffee.”

Ian looked up from his laptop to see gorgeous chocolate brown orbs looking at him. Anthony’s smile was—and the writer in Ian cringed in disappointment as he found that he had no other words—sweet. He had a cute little dimple, and Ian loved the way the corners of Anthony’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

Anthony put the steaming cup of coffee on the table, his hand sure and steady, and for a few seconds, Ian could smell the intoxicating scent of coffee, with a hint of citrus and coconut, most likely from Anthony’s soap.

Ian mentally groaned. It was only his fourth time in the café and he was already trying to guess Anthony’s brand of soap. He was _such_ a fucking creep.

Anthony stood up straight, and noticing the blank word processor on the screen, said, “you write?”

Ian looked at his screen and felt the tips of ears turn red. Thank _God_ he had erased what he had written, or else he would never live it down. “Yeah, I do,” he finally managed to say after a few seconds.

Anthony nodded, smiling. “Well, cool. Enjoy your coffee.”

“I will,” Ian said, looking at his cup of coffee where a small piece of paper with _Ihan_ written on it was taped. Surprised, he laughed, grabbing his mug to look at the piece of paper.

Anthony smiled, hearing Ian’s surprised laugh. To be honest, he was actually quite proud of himself for managing to talk to Ian without stuttering and for managing not to get into an accident. He was actually so proud, that he convinced himself that he deserved some kind of reward.

That was how Anthony found himself looking back at Ian, his eyes widening as he saw Ian worrying his lip between his teeth.

That was also how Anthony had managed to walk straight into one of the hard cement columns inside the café.

Anthony took a step back, rubbing his left cheek with his hand. _So much for avoiding accidents_ , he thought to himself.

-.-.-.-

“You,” said Joven as he cut a piece of cake and put it on a small white platter, “are whipped. Whipped like _whipped cream_.”

“Shut up,” murmured Anthony as he glanced up, surprised to find himself disappointed when the customer who entered the café _wasn’t_ Ian. Without meaning to, he sighed, cringing immediately when he realized that David heard him.

David snickered as he walked towards the bookshelves on the left side of the spacious counter, thick novels stacked on his arms. “What, were you disappointed when you looked up and this Ian guy wasn’t there?”

Anthony knew the answer was _yes_ , but he wasn’t going to tell David that. He _did_ have some self-respect, thank you very much.

“The answer’s most probably yes,” Joven said anyway as he put the small white platter and a tall glass of iced tea on a tray, “Anthony just doesn’t want to say so.”

Anthony shot Joven a dirty look. Joven ignored him, like always, and proceeded to walk away.

To be honest, he really, _really_ wanted to remain silent. It was just that Anthony wanted to say something too.

“Ian’s really cute,” he began, not knowing what else to say or why the hell he spoke in the first place. “When I met him, I literally injured myself—I put too much milk and it overflowed, burning my hand, because I couldn’t stop staring at him and his bowl haircut.”

David shook his head as he put the last two novels on the top shelf. “I’m not saying that this guy’s horrible,” he said as he stepped down the chair he was standing on, “but you have to be careful, man. You have this unexplained attraction to douchebags.”

The bell above the door rang, and Anthony once again found himself glancing up. He grimaced when he saw Matt entering the café, bowing his head again once he was sure that there was no one entering the café behind Matt.

Matt furrowed his eyebrows as he walked to the counter, removing his sling bag. “Why was Anthony glaring at me?”

Anthony sighed. Apparently, Matt had noticed his disappointment anyway.

It was a slow afternoon and lunch break had ended for most people, so there were only a few people in the café. It was because of this that David allowed himself to laugh loudly, something that Anthony knew to be David’s way of mocking him.

David walked behind the counter, his steps light. “Because when he looked up, you were the one who was walking through the door, not his prince charming.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully as he tied his apron around his waist. “Anthony tends to do idiotic things when this guy’s around.”

“Like what?” asked David, pouring water in a nondescript brown cup.

“Like getting a tray of sugar cookies from the oven without oven mitts on,” he answered, and Anthony could just hear him struggling to keep from laughing.

David wasn’t _quite_ as nice as Matt, and so he proceeded to spit out his water as he laughed heartily.

Anthony groaned and resisted the temptation to bury his face in his hands.

Matt shook his head and walked inside the kitchen, no doubt preparing to bake tomorrow’s cake of the day. David was still chuckling, his face red from laughter. His eyes were shut and Anthony could actually see tears escaping his eyes.

“God, you guys are _assholes_ ,” Anthony muttered as he stood up straight, walking to the espresso machine.

For a few moments, the café was peaceful—the only thing that could be heard was the calming music Mari had picked for today’s playlist and, occasionally, a few snorts from David as he struggled to stop laughing. The peace was broken, however, when the bell above the door rang and Ian, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a soft blue sweater, walked inside the café.

Anthony glanced behind him, expecting to find just another customer. He was about to direct his attention back to the espresso machine when he realized that _holy fuck,_ Ian was walking through the door and was on his way to the counter.

Anthony’s eyes widened and he quickly walked to the counter, smiling. Except, hehad sort of _kind of_ forgot about how he tended to get into accidents whenever Ian was around, and _well_ , he slipped, landing hard on his ass.

David blinked owlishly at him, his eyebrows furrowed. David thought Matt was _fucking_ joking, but well, apparently _not_ , because there Anthony was, on the floor, water slowly seeping into his pants.

What the _actual_ fuck.

“Is he going to be all right?”

David looked at the customer and felt his eyes widen even more. _What the actual fuck was happening_?

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?” he eventually managed to say. He glanced at Anthony who was still seated on the wet tiled floor, rubbing his bottom with his left hand as if it would take away the pain. He looked back to the bowl-haired man before him—the infamous _Ian_ —and nodded slowly. “He’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“If you say so,” Ian said slowly, unsure. He then shook his head and ordered, still sneaking a glance at Anthony every now and then.

Anthony slowly stood up for two reasons. One, his ass still hurt, and two, his face was deep red from embarrassment. When the hell was he going to stop embarrassing himself from Ian?

Ian smiled, seeing that Anthony was well enough to stand up. “You okay?” he asked.

Anthony managed to put a smile on his face despite the embarrassment and the pain. “I will be,” he said eventually. The temptation to continue rubbing his bottom to reduce the pain somewhat was really fucking great, but he really didn’t want to embarrass himself any further.

David wrote down Ian’s name on a piece of paper and taped it on the orange mug, handing it to Ian right after. “Enjoy your coffee,” he said, smiling.

Ian looked down at the coffee cup, his eyebrows rising in disbelief as he read what David had written. “You didn’t ask for my name,” he said, confused.

Anthony blinked once, twice, thrice. Was David _flirting_ with Ian? What the fuck?

“I’m actually a big fan of your books,” David admitted, smiling.

Anthony’s eyes widened. First and foremost, _was David actually flirting with Ian?_ And second, _what?_ Ian was a writer?

“Oh,” said Ian, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with the newly-acquired information. “Thank you,” he eventually said, smiling.

When Ian walked away to go to his usual spot, Anthony finally looked at David and said, “What the actual fuck, David? Were you just flirting with him? Also, he’s a writer? What did he write?”

“Calm down,” he said as he put away the dishcloth. “I wasn’t flirting with him, so don’t go planning a _Just Dance_ rematch. His name is Ian Hecox and he writes mystery novels. He’s actually really good with mixing violence with humor.”

Anthony blinked. He could just feel his heart pounding that much harder, could feel the way his palms were sweating.

How was it that one man could have this kind of effect on him?

David took one look at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Joven is right. You’re whipped.”

He _was_ whipped. Whipped like cream.

-.-.-.-

“Eyan? _Seriously_?” Ian asked, stifling a laugh.

Anthony smiled—Ian’s laugh sounded beautiful to his ears—and shrugged. “I’m trying to see how many times I can misspell your name,” he said, grinning.

Ian shook his head, amused. “I can see that,” he said, putting the mug back down on the countertop. He looked at the glass display case, his eyebrows rising. “Can I order one of those pink sprinkled donuts, as well?”

Anthony nodded, walking over to the glass display case and sliding the door open. He grabbed a pair of tongs and carefully took a donut, conscious of the fact that he might just embarrass himself again. When he had the donut safely on the small white platter, he happily slid the door closed which was when—and of _fucking_ course, he should have expected this, already—his pinky caught in between the door and the edge.

Anthony bit his lip, not wanting to curse like a sailor within Ian’s hearing range, but _damn it_ did it hurt.

He stood up and gave Ian the platter, managing to smile despite the pain. God, he was a fucking disaster whenever Ian was around.

“Thank you,” said Ian gratefully, and _oh_ , his eyes seemed to brighten up even more when Anthony gave him the donut.

Anthony grinned at him. It was time to admit to himself that he was _seriously_ attracted to Ian—a man who had a ridiculous bowl haircut and gorgeous blue eyes and soft-looking lips that probably tasted well.

Ian ignored the knife and fork, grabbing the donut with his hand. “First bite,” he said loudly, before taking a humongous bite.

He was so adorable, Anthony wondered how the hell he was real.

All of a sudden, Ian moaned, and the tips of Anthony’s ears went red. Ian wasn’t only adorable, he was sexy as hell, too—a fact evidenced by the sudden tightening of Anthony’s pants.

Anthony discreetly walked closer to the counter, not wanting Ian to see the sudden bulge and be freaked out. The good thing that came out of the incident was that Anthony forgot all about the pain in his pinky finger, focusing instead on the pain resulting from the tight jeans.

“What was that?” he eventually asked when he was sure he wasn’t going to stutter.

Ian grinned. “A foodgasm,” he said matter-of-factly. He then took his platter and his glass of iced tea before walking away.

For a moment, Anthony felt a bit of jealousy overtake him—it should have been him wrenching those moans out of Ian—but then he took a look at the row of pink sprinkled donuts in the glass display case, and an idea came to him.

-.-.-.-

“Please?”

“No,” Matt said as he sat down on the couch, a piece of pepperoni pizza on his hand.

Every Friday night, the gang made sure to have some fun in someone’s apartment. Tonight, they were in Mari’s apartment, about to start a _Just Dance_ rematch.

“Why not?” asked Anthony as he put his piece of pizza on a plate.

Matt took his time, chewing his pizza thoroughly before swallowing and saying, “because you can’t even get cookies out of the oven with oven mitts on.”

David laughed, shaking his head. “Baking’s dangerous for you, Anthony.”

Anthony wasn’t going to just accept the fact that Matt wasn’t going to teach him to bake—he couldn’t. He _had_ to make Matt agree.

“Why do you even want to learn how to bake?” Mari asked as she sat down beside Matt on her soft green sofa. “There’s a reason we don’t generally send you to the kitchen.”

Anthony felt himself blush. He was actually hoping that no one would ask him why he wanted to bake, and at the very least, he was hoping that he would at least be able to lie his way out. Unfortunately, Ian’s moan came back to him, like some kind of phantom sound, and he had blushed.

There was no way the others would have missed his blush.

David laughed. Matt groaned. Mari just shook her head in amusement before taking a bite off her pizza.

Joven walked out of the kitchen, a can of soda in his hand. “What did I miss?”

“Anthony wants to learn how to bake for that guy Ian,” answered Matt.

Joven smiled, sitting down on the armchair across Anthony. “That’s sweet.”

“It would be if Anthony actually told the guy he liked him,” said Mari, shaking her head as she looked at Joven. “Right now, Anthony’s just pining for a guy who might not even be gay or bi.”

Anthony’s heart fell. He knew there was a huge possibility that Ian was straight, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. When Mari said out loud what he had tried so hard to ignore, it had become more real to him, a pressing matter that he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Wait. Ian was a famous writer, wasn’t he? Surely he had had many interviews about his personal life?

“Do you know if he’s straight, David?” he asked out of a sudden, breaking the silence.

David shook his head. “Why the hell would I know that?”

Anthony sighed. “I thought that, you know, since he’s a writer, maybe he’s had a few interviews every now and then.”

“I read books, Anthony. I don’t watch interviews. Unlike you, I’m not a creepy stalker,” he said, knowing that Anthony—being his usual self—researched everything he could about Ian after he told him that Ian was a famous writer.

“If you ask me,” said Joven, “I think you should just go and have a chat with him. Get to know him a little better, and then maybe you’ll find out for yourself. If he questions you on why you want to have a little chat with him, just tell him that you want to know your regulars better.”

Mari rolled her eyes. “Stop encouraging Anthony to continue to creep out the guy, Joven.”

“It’s romantic!” he reasoned.

“It’s fucking creepy,” Mari answered back. “Just ask him out the next time he comes back.”

Anthony shook his head. He couldn’t just _ask_ the guy out—Ian would be shocked if Anthony just asked him out of the blue, and he might not react well. On the other hand, having a conversation with Ian seemed hard to do too, especially with his tendency to embarrass himself whenever Ian was around.

“Just don’t ask him out at all,” David said, his mouth full of pepperoni pizza. “All they do is stomp your heart and break your balls. Don’t do it, man. Don’t date.”

David’s suggestion wasn’t an option, so he was back to choosing between Mari’s and Joven’s ideas.

While Mari’s idea was the quickest way to get an answer from Ian, it was also the quickest way to get rejected if Ian didn’t bat for the same team.

Joven was a romantic at heart—and Anthony had absolutely no doubt that Joven had his best interests in mind—but his idea _was_ a little stalker-ish.

“Thanks guys,” Anthony said, shaking his head, “but I think I’ll stick with my plan.”

Matt sighed. “Which is?”

“I’m going to learn how to bake pink sprinkled donuts—apparently, they’re his favorite,” he answered, his voice getting softer and softer as he neared the end of his sentence. Yes, his plan was probably creepier than Joven’s, but at least it wouldn’t be an _obvious_ creepy thing.

Was it?

“And then what?” asked David as he stood up from the chair, heading towards the bathroom. “Are you going to sell the donuts at the café?”

“Well, yeah,” muttered Anthony. He looked at his friends, all of whom were looking at him with looks that said “ _Oh, you poor thing_ ”.

“What?” Anthony asked. He then realized that he sounded a little—okay, _a lot_ —more defensive than he should have.

“He’s missing the point,” David said, gesturing to Anthony. “How the _hell_ is he missing the point?”

Mari laughed, shaking her head.

Anthony looked at his friends, thoroughly confused. “What point? What am I missing?”

David sat back down beside Matt. “How are you missing the point, Anthony? The point is in neon lights—wait, no. The point is a strip club, and you’re missing the point.”

Joven laughed. “How does a man miss a strip club?”

“Exactly,” said David, motioning towards Joven.

Anthony shook his head. He was confused as hell, and his friends weren’t helping at all. “What do you guys mean?”

Mari—God bless her soul—finally answered him. “Anthony, you’re still in the danger zone. You don’t know this guy well yet. You don’t have his phone number, or his address. If you weird this guy out, he might decide not to come to the café anymore, and then _we’ll_ have to deal with you mooning over the guy.”

“My suggestion,” said Joven, taking pity on his friend, “was the quickest way for you to get to know each other by being friends first. That way, it wouldn’t be weird if you asked him to hang out with you, and you’d at least have a little more information about this guy. Mari’s suggestion was the quickest way to get a date with the guy, and her suggestion would most probably at least result in you guys exchanging phone numbers.”

“If you just tell the guy you baked the donuts for him, he might run for the hills, screaming,” said David, shrugging. “Not to mention the fact that our sales might drop, as well.”

Anthony looked at Matt, wanting to know what his opinion was. His friends made a lot of sense, and to be honest, it actually kind of opened his eyes to what the situation was.

The situation was that every time Ian went to the café, Anthony would catch himself staring at the handsome man like a lovesick fool. Anthony couldn’t just suddenly bake him donuts—Ian would probably be touched because he was just amazing like that, but he would also probably not come back ever to the café because Anthony was there—the guy who kept on getting into accidents whenever Ian was around.

“I’ll do it,” answered Matt.

“What?” Joven almost shrieked. His voice took on the quality that just expressed his frustration and shock more than his words ever could.

Matt shrugged. “It will take a _really, really_ long time before Anthony masters how to bake a donut, believe me. Ian and Anthony will probably be friends already by the time Anthony’s donuts are at least fifty percent edible.”

Anthony smiled.

-.-.-.-

The next day, Anthony put more effort into dressing nicely.

He put on a fitted gray v-neck tee and a pair of black skinny jeans he knew showed off his ass really well. As much as he wanted to wear his polo shirts and button-ups, he really didn’t want to look like he just spent the past two hours getting ready. He wanted to look good, yes, but _casual_ good, like preparing was effortless.

With a nod, he walked away from the mirror, mentally convincing himself all the while that _no_ , he didn’t need to change clothes and _yes,_ he looked just fine.

However, when he got to the café, Ian wasn’t there.

Mari raised an eyebrow at him, continuing to wipe down mugs as she spoke. “What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

Anthony merely shrugged. He didn’t have to say why—he was certain that Mari knew the answer.

Mari shook her head. “What are you going to do until he arrives, then?”

He…actually didn’t know.

The thing about Ian was that he was some kind of _thing_ that was always there at the back of Anthony’s mind. Whether it was the color of his eyes that haunted him every waking moment or the undeniably sexy moan he had let slip out when he ate that donut, Anthony just couldn’t get him out of his mind. Everything reminded him of Ian, and he found that he couldn’t concentrate. He kept comparing the shade of his blue shirts to Ian’s eyes, kept noticing people on the street who had bowl haircuts that, for some unknown reason, didn’t seem to be half as perfect as Ian’s.

He had also noticed the height difference between him and Ian—had noticed that Ian was just the right height to be able to kiss his neck and bite his earlobe before whispering in his ear the dirty things he would like to do to him.

Anthony blushed to the roots of his hair. He sneaked a look at Mari, sighing in relief when he saw that she was busy cleaning the espresso machine, her back to him.

The morning rush was about to start soon, so Anthony quickly ordered. He waited for Mari to finish his cappuccino before asking for their little pad of paper and writing on it. After leaving her with instructions, he walked away from the counter, his feet somehow bringing him to Ian’s usual spot without him even knowing it.

He sat down on the mauve high-backed wing chair across Ian’s usual seat, put his mug on the table, and just waited.

He found his thoughts drifting back to Ian.

Anthony sighed. It was probably _really creepy_ that he was thinking about Ian almost non-stop now. He knew he shouldn’t dive headfirst into this _crush_ like he had into his past relationships, but he couldn’t stop himself. Ian was, and it was a really clichéd line, different. He felt different to Anthony, like he wasn’t someone who would just up and leave him.

Anthony wanted to get to know Ian better, and not in the stalk-him-on-Google kind of way. He wanted to have long, goofy conversations with him, wanted to spend moments on the couch with him, just playing video games. He wanted to make him laugh, wanted to watch him write and be lulled to sleep by the sound of keys clacking on the keyboard.

He wanted to know what Ian looked like when he slept. Anthony had absolutely no doubt that Ian looked adorable when he slept—how could he _not_ when he just looked adorable all the time without even trying?—but he wanted to know details. He wanted to know if Ian talked in his sleep, if he snored, and if he was the type to steal all the covers in the middle of the night.

Oh _God_ , did Anthony want.

They were nothing more than acquaintances, really, but Anthony could already tell that Ian was _something_. Anthony could understand why his friends were skeptical about Ian—after all, didn’t Anthony swear the others were _something_ too? While he understood them, he didn’t necessarily agree with them. There was nothing to be done at the moment though, seeing as he didn’t know how to explain to his friends just how giddy the thought of Ian appearing at the café made him.

“En? It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”

Anthony looked up, grinning when he saw Ian. “Hello,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

Ian was dressed in a fitted maroon three-fourths sleeved tee which brought attention to his slim waist. _God_ , Anthony could—very vividly—imagine himself just putting his arms around this man and kissing him.

“Hello,” Ian said, still smiling. He sat down across Anthony, putting his cup of hot mocha on the table.

While it wasn’t a date, it felt very much so, or at least to Anthony it did. He took his mug and swallowed down at least a fourth of his drink, his eyes watering as he realized that he didn’t blow on the hot liquid first.

He put the mug down on the table, biting his lip. He was _not_ going to embarrass himself in front of Ian today. Ignoring the painful feeling in his mouth and throat, he looked up, red staining his cheeks when he saw Ian staring at him.

Unconsciously, he licked his lips, his eyes widening when he saw Ian’s blue eyes follow the movement of his tongue across his lips.

_Well, then._

Maybe he wasn’t quite as hopeless as he’d thought. Ian had stared at his lips, and that had to be a good sign.

It was with much more confidence that Anthony started the conversation, making sure to look for any more clues that indicated Ian might probably be interested.

-.-.-.-

Matt looked at the ingredients set out on the cold, aluminum table. “I’ve printed instructions for you. You _can_ follow instructions, can’t you?”

Anthony gave Matt his _are you kidding me_ look, tilting his head a bit to the side.

Matt rolled his eyes and gave Anthony a folded piece of paper. “Call me if you have questions.”

Anthony unfolded the piece of paper, the bolded “Don’t forget to wear oven mitts!” immediately catching his attention. “Seriously, that was _one_ time!” he exclaimed, directing his attention from the paper to Matt.

Matt shrugged. “That was _one_ time, sure, but that was also the _only_ time I asked you to get something from the oven. Don’t blame me if I have trust issues with you and anything concerning the kitchen.”

With a nod, Matt exited the kitchen. It probably wasn’t a good sign that exiting the kitchen felt a little bit like walking towards disaster, but there was nothing Matt could do now. He had said yes—like a _damn_ fool—and if he didn’t keep his word, Anthony would doubtlessly try to find a way to torture him.

Anthony looked at the ingredients before him and shrugged. Baking couldn’t be that hard, could it?

While working, he let his mind wander. Eventually, his mind settled on a thought it never tired of settling on—Ian.

Their conversation was amazing. Anthony didn’t actually expect to have so many things in common with the man he had a crush on, didn’t expect to be more attracted to the guy than he already was. When Ian talked animatedly about his interests, Anthony found himself content to listen and let the amazing feeling he got whenever Ian was around wash over him. He just felt so at peace.

Ian had proven himself to be capable of being _more_ adorable when he was excited. When Ian was talking about his passion and the things he loved, Anthony found himself wanting to feel excited too.

He couldn’t ask Ian if he wanted to go out with Anthony. Yes, Mari thought he was a bit of a coward for not asking Ian, but how could he when their conversation was going so well? He didn’t want to wreck the nice little _thing_ they had, not when it could develop into something more with time. Or at least, he _hoped_ it would develop into something more.

When he was _finally_ done, he allowed himself to just look at the donuts. They looked like the pink sprinkled donuts Matt baked, so that was a good sign, wasn’t it?

He grinned. Maybe he could get the hang of baking, after all.

Matt entered the kitchen, genuinely looking surprised that the kitchen wasn’t on fire, and that the donuts looked fine. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

Anthony grinned.

Matt took a donut, examining it from all sides. Satisfied, he took a bite, and then promptly spat it out. “I knew there was a catch,” he muttered, his eyes watering.

Anthony’s eyes widened. What the hell just happened? “It’s _that_ bad?” he asked.

Matt took his time drinking water. After he had finished the entire bottle, he closed his eyes and nodded. “It’s _that_ bad.”

“What did I do wrong?” Anthony asked, grabbing a donut and taking a bite off it. Before Matt could reply, however, Anthony spat out what was in his mouth. He felt horror as realization dawned on him.

“I might be wrong,” said Matt, “but I _think_ you put in three-quarters of a cup of salt instead of sugar, and a teaspoon of sugar instead of salt.”

Anthony sighed, looking at the batch of donuts he had made.

Damn it.

-.-.-.-

Anthony looked up when he heard a loud thump.

His eyes widened when he saw Ian outside the glass door, his laptop bag hanging on his right shoulder. Ian frowned as he tried pushing the door again, to no avail.

Anthony walked towards the door, Ian oblivious to his presence. Anthony watched Ian look down at the edge of the door, his eyebrows rising in understanding.

Anthony had about one second to realize that _oh shit,_ the door was swinging in his fucking direction, before his forehead made contact with the edge of the glass door, pain immediately making itself known on his forehead.

Ian’s eyes widened when he realized that he had just bitch-slapped Anthony with a glass door, sort of. “Are you okay?” he asked, wincing as he looked at the angry red spot on Anthony’s forehead. “Believe me when I say that I really didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Anthony wanted to reply, wanted to assure Ian that he was just fine, but he had his hand on his forehead, wanting to cover up the bruise, but not wanting to because touching it _fucking hurt_ , and his bottom lip was currently in between his teeth as he tried not to embarrass himself further by  shouting profanity while in pain.

Almost against his will, Ian’s eyes slid down to gaze at Anthony’s red lips. He blushed, quickly averting his gaze, and took Anthony’s left hand, pulling him towards the counter. “Do you have any band-aids?”

Anthony shook his head. He didn’t think he could talk yet.

Ian frowned, but let the matter go. After all, it _was_ his fault, not Anthony’s.

When they were finally behind the counter, Ian put his laptop bag on the ground and steered Anthony towards the nearest sink.

“Do you have a handkerchief?” Ian asked, his hands still on Anthony’s shoulders. It probably wasn’t the right time, but Ian found his gaze slipping from Anthony’s forehead to his chocolate brown eyes. He wanted very much to lose himself in them, wanted to hold Anthony’s face and let his fingers explore the smooth skin of his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jaw. He wanted to be able to kiss the bruise better, to press his lips against Anthony’s own.

Ian stopped himself, though. For all he knew, Anthony might not even be attracted to guys.

Anthony nodded, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He handed a blue and white striped handkerchief, smiling a bit as he looked at Ian’s eyes, seeing the obvious worry in them.

Ian wet a small portion of Anthony’s handkerchief and dabbed it on the bruise. His left palm was cupping Anthony’s jaw line as he dabbed on the bruise with his other hand, and Anthony found himself closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of Ian.

“There, all done.”

Ian’s voice was soft, hushed—like he didn’t want to disturb the calm that had settled over them. And why would he want to? He had never been this close in proximity to Anthony, and now that he was, he didn’t really feel like backing away any time soon.

“Thanks.”

Anthony’s voice was equally as soft.

Ian finally let go of him after more than a few tries to get away, giving him his handkerchief back. “Here you go,” he said. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Anthony answered. Actually, it was _more_ than fine—already, he missed Ian’s touch, missed the way Ian seemed to unconsciously swipe his thumb back and forth when he had Anthony’s jaw line cupped in his hand. “So uhm,” he began awkwardly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence with some kind of noise, “what’s your order?”

Ian grinned at him, ordering before getting his laptop bag from the ground and walking to his usual spot. As usual, Anthony made the drink, wrote down another misspelled version of Ian’s name, and taped the piece of paper to his mug.

Anthony carefully brought Ian his cup of coffee, making sure not to trip or slip. He wanted to have another long conversation with Ian, he really did, but Ian had his laptop out and was probably going to write something, not to mention that Anthony was the only one in the shop, seeing as it was David’s day off, and the other three had somehow gotten sick with the flu despite it being summer. So instead of sitting across Ian like he wanted to, he put down the mug and walked away.

However, curiosity won, and Anthony stopped walking, looking behind him to see what Ian’s reaction was.

Ian was smiling, his eyes soft, making him look almost impossibly younger. He looked up, saw Anthony looking at him, and mouthed, “ _Lan? Really?_ ”

Anthony merely shrugged, smiling, before walking back to the counter.

-.-.-.-

“How’s the baking thing going?”

Anthony looked at Joven before looking back to his latest batch of pink sprinkled donuts. “You’re not getting one until Matt gives me the go signal.”

Joven sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sure this batch is great. I won’t _die_ or anything if I eat just one, plus I can give you my opinion on the donuts,” he said, trying to convince Anthony to just give him one. He was _really_ hungry, but he couldn’t go on his lunch break because Matt wasn’t at the café yet.

Anthony shook his head. As much as he wanted to know how well he did on the donuts, Joven wasn’t really the guy who would give him the criticism he needed. “Sorry, but no.”

The bell above the door rang, and Anthony looked up, his eyes widening when he saw Ian. Upon noticing him, Ian smiled, his smile widening even further when he saw the batch of pink sprinkled donuts in Anthony’s hands.

“Hey,” Ian greeted, a smile still on his lips, “you remembered my favorite!”

_Oh fuck_.

Anthony smiled, mentally freaking out. Ian was probably going to order one—after all, they didn’t have the pink sprinkled donuts in the glass display case for at least a week—and if he did order one, it would seem weird if Anthony refused to give one to him. He _really_ didn’t want to send Ian running away, screaming, because of horrible donuts.

“I’ll have one of those,” said Ian, pointing a finger in the direction of the donuts, “and a large mocha.”

Anthony glanced at the donuts, panicking. What the fuck was he going to do? He looked up, hearing the bell ring, and he did his best to convey through his eyes the panic he felt to Matt. Matt’s eyebrows furrowed, before he saw Ian grabbing his wallet from his back pocket and the batch of donuts in Anthony’s hands.

_Oh shit_.

Joven got to work on Ian’s mocha as he bit his lip to keep from laughing. Anthony was _so_ fucked.

“I uh,” began Anthony, doing his best to keep himself from stuttering, “I’m not really the baker in the café, and this is just my first time baking donuts, so they might not be good.”

Ian waved a hand, as if to dismiss his worries. “Nah, I’m sure they’re great.”

Matt walked towards the counter a little faster. “He’s right, you know,” he said, trying to reason out with Ian. “He’s _really_ not good at baking. I’m the baker and I can tell you for sure that his donuts aren’t quite edible, yet.”

Anthony closed his eyes. _Thank God for Matt._

Ian shrugged. “They look edible to me.”

“Looks may be deceiving,” said Joven as he taped the piece of paper Anthony had written on a while ago. While he didn’t know what kind of game they were playing with Anthony deliberately misspelling Ian’s name, he thought it was cute, so he played along.

Anthony nodded profusely, willing to accept any reason, as long as Ian didn’t eat the donuts he baked. _Fuck_ , why did he even go through with his plan?

“All right,” he said as he shrugged. He took the mug of mocha Joven was giving him, put it on the countertop, and opened his wallet for some bills.

Matt sighed in relief, going behind the counter and removing his bag.

Anthony wanted to thank whatever guardian angel was watching over him.

Ian smiled, putting the ten dollar bill on the countertop. He put his mug away from him, looked on as Joven opened the cash register, and took a quick glance at Matt’s direction.

He then proceeded to jump a bit, reaching over and managing to snag one donut.

“Oh fuck,” said Anthony as he put the tray of donuts on the lower counter before reaching towards Ian. He _really_ should have known Ian would do what he did.

Ian hurriedly backed away from the countertop before biting off a humongous piece of the donut. Matt, Joven, and Anthony stared in horror as he did so, and it seemed like time had slowed down behind the counter.

Ian chewed thoughtfully, shrugging. “I don’t get why you guys were so worried. It actually tastes pretty good.”

He walked towards the countertop, grabbed his mug of mocha, raising his eyebrow at the name written on the paper— _Eden_ — and grabbed the change that Joven wordlessly gave him, before walking away, smiling at Anthony.

Matt blinked. “Did that just happen?”

Joven blinked, closing the cash register, before quickly grabbing a donut despite Anthony’s protests. “It _does_ taste good.”

Matt shook his head, grabbing a donut. “We get into horrible situations for you, Anthony. Don’t you ever say we’re terrible friends.”

Anthony looked down at the batch of donuts.

At least he didn’t get into an accident this time, he supposed.

-.-.-.-

It was a slow evening in the café, and most of the other customers had already left. The only ones still inside the café were the regulars.

“I’m going to head out,” said David as he put his apron on the hook.

Anthony nodded at him, his eyes not leaving the book he was reading.

The café was mostly silent, except for the soothing music sounding from their speakers. The regulars weren’t really talking—most of them were busy with their laptops, and some were busy with their books.

This was why Anthony loved night shifts at the café. The ones who went to the café during the evening were mostly regulars, so Anthony knew them and could converse with them casually, not to mention that at night, there was hardly any rude customer, unlike the morning shift which always brought to them grumpy businessmen who were forced to wake up at ass o’clock in the morning and hadn’t had their morning coffee yet.

The bell rang, and Anthony stood up, a smile immediately gracing his face when he saw Ian walk in, his laptop bag hanging on one shoulder. His smile vanished, however, when Ian held the door open and a woman walked in, smiling at him in gratefulness.

Anthony’s heart fell.

The woman was _beautiful_. She had long dirty blonde hair, and a smile that Anthony knew would be able to make any man fall in her direction. She had a figure that, while it wasn’t quite supermodel-slim, was still beautiful.

He wanted to know if Ian was straight or not, didn’t he? So why did it hurt so much?

Anthony put down the book he was reading, hiding it from sight. He was reading one of Ian’s books in an effort to get to know him better, as well as to have something to talk about the next time he found the courage to talk to him, but it seemed like his efforts were for nothing.

He pasted a smile on his face as Ian and the woman approached. What was he compared to this girl, this girl who had eyes almost as mesmerizing as Ian’s? She had high cheekbones, a slim nose, and grace with which she carried herself—and Anthony couldn’t even fucking serve Ian his coffee without getting into an accident.

“Hello,” he said amiably, not wanting to clue Ian in on the fact that _holy fuck_ he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him alive. “What can I get you?”

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Anthony, confusion evident in his blue, blue eyes. The woman with him was oblivious to Ian’s silent question and Anthony’s silent avoidance of said question, and she looked up at the chalkboard, humming under her breath as she thought about her options.

“Can I get your name, miss?” he asked once they were finished ordering.

The woman smiled brightly. “Melanie,” she said.

“All right. I’ll just bring your orders to you,” said Anthony, still trying to look as normal as he could.

Eventually, the two left, walking towards Ian’s usual spot. Ian kept glancing back at him, but Anthony resolutely ignored the weight of his stare, instead turning his back and starting to make their coffee orders.

How could he have been so stupid? It was like his past relationships all over again, except what he and Ian had wasn’t really a relationship, was it? It wasn’t even a friendship. He had just fallen for the guy and mooned over him in silence.

God, and Anthony even swore he felt like Ian was different.

It wasn’t even Ian’s fault, not really. It was all on Anthony because he was the guy who kept on falling for Ian despite not knowing for sure if Ian was attracted to men. It wasn’t Ian’s fault that he had a girlfriend who was equally as beautiful as him. Together, Ian and Melanie looked like a picture-perfect couple, and Anthony couldn’t get in the way of that.

Melanie was perfect for Ian—that much, Anthony could tell. She was just so perfect-looking, she was probably the kind of girl who had mastered washing her face in the sink without spilling water all over the floor.

After a while, Anthony looked at the two steaming mugs in front of him. He sighed. He didn’t really want to go near them—he actually just wanted to forget they were there—but he had to.

He put the mugs on the tray and walked to their space, noticing that Ian had his laptop on the table and was talking to Melanie animatedly, gesturing with his hands to further his point. Once Ian saw him, he abruptly stopped talking, his eyes widening.

Anthony silently put the two mugs down on the table, smiled at the two, before walking away. Because he was a _fucking masochist_ , he looked back at Ian. He saw Ian frowning at the name written on the paper, and he looked away immediately.

If he thought he couldn’t deal with Ian’s smile, it was nothing compared to having to deal with his frown.

-.-.-.-

Anthony sighed as he counted the earnings for the day. Everyone had already left, and it was past midnight already, with Melanie and Ian leaving just ten minutes ago.

Anthony heard a knock on the glass door, and he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he saw Ian outside the glass door.

Maybe he left something?

Anthony stood up and walked to the door, immediately unlocking the door once he was near. He opened it, and Ian immediately walked inside.

“Look,” said Ian, his hands gesturing wildly, “I like you, Anthony. I like you very much.”

Ian sounded out of breath, like he had ran a few blocks before getting to the café. Anthony’s eyes widened, but he refused to listen—he wasn’t going to fall for lines like those again.

“I was really confused when I got my drink and you spelled my name right and I was just so worried that I did something wrong because your smile looked forced when you were asking for our drinks,” Ian rambled on, his hands still trying to put his point across, “but then Melanie told me that it was probably her that you had a problem with because it was your first time seeing her with me and she told me that you probably thought she was my girlfriend, but she’s not. She’s not my girlfriend, Anthony. We were walking down the block when she told me that I probably had to go back and tell you these things because goddamn it, I _really_ , _really_ like you, Anthony.”

Anthony felt like he couldn’t breathe. He blinked, trying to think of words to say, but he felt like there were no appropriate words.

Ian caught his breath for a few seconds, before standing up straight again, his hands at his sides. The only sound that could be heard in the empty café was his harsh breathing.

“I would very much like to kiss you now.”

Wordless, Anthony could do nothing more than nod.

Ian smiled, putting his hands on the sides of Anthony’s face and standing on the tip of his toes before leaning in for a kiss.

At first, there was nothing Anthony could do but close his eyes and wonder if it was really happening, if it wasn’t just another dream he was going to wake up from. He felt Ian’s tongue press against his lips, a silent plead for him to respond, and he did, opening his mouth and kissing back with all he got. Ian tasted like coffee and something sweeter than sugar, and Anthony felt like he couldn’t get enough of this man. His hands were suddenly on Ian’s slim waist, holding him close. Ian’s beard felt weird against his skin, but it felt good, a welcome sensation.

When the need for air became apparent, Anthony stopped. Ian’s eyes were stormy blue, and he smiled, noting Ian’s red lips. Remembering the feel of Ian’s soft lips against his own, there was nothing more that Anthony wanted to do except kiss Ian again and again. As much as he wanted to do that, though, he had to close the café first.

“I have to close the shop,” he said softly, loving the way that he could smell Ian’s sweet scent.

“That’s okay,” Ian responded softly.

Anthony smiled. He wanted to go to rooftops and shout to the world that Ian just kissed him. His heart was still beating fast and his hands were still on Ian’s hips, and he smiled because everything was all right.

Ian was right. It was okay.

-.-.-.-

Anthony groaned, opening his eyes. His body was still warm with sleep, and there was nothing more he wanted to do than go right back to sleep and enjoy a lie in. His eyes opened abruptly though, when he remembered last night’s—actually, just _this morning’s_ events.

Had it been a dream?

Anthony didn’t think so. He was naked. And while he _did_ sometimes sleep naked, he didn’t really have the habit of just flinging his clothes everywhere.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he saw one sock on his Wii.

The other side of the bed was cold, and Anthony felt his heart fall. So Ian _did_ leave him, then. He knew he shouldn’t have fallen for that line. He hated the fact that the sun was shining brightly outside and that the birds were chirping—it should have been raining, instead.

“Good morning.”

Anthony looked up, his worries fading away as he saw Ian in his boxers, holding two cups of coffee. He smiled. “Good morning.”

Ian walked to the bed, careful not to spill the coffee. “I thought, since you always make my coffee, that I would return the favor.” He handed one coffee mug to Anthony before he slipped under the covers, sitting on the bed beside Anthony.

Anthony looked at his mug and smiled.

_Good morning, Anyhony._

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Smosh and I make no money from this.


End file.
